Life in Whiterun
by Mr.Deacon
Summary: The lives of the Dragonborn and his family and friends as they live (relatively) simple lives in Skyrim. Multiple snippets showing my Argonian Dragonborn's life as well as that of his friends and family. M!Dragonborn/Brelyna Maryon, Derkeethus/Lydia, Hroar/Nelkir, etc.
1. A Father's Promise

Blaise woke in a cold sweat, gasping as he was jolted awake from the nightmare he just experienced. Always the quiet one of the family (not counting his father, at least), Blaise never made much noise even when he woke up in a fright. It had become a less recurring issue since he had been adopted, but the occasional nighttime fright did show its ugly face every now and then. Rubbing his eyes, Blaise glanced over to the opposite end of the room to see his adopted older brother, Hroar, still dead asleep and snoring up a storm as always. Smiling fondly, Blaise decided to take the time to get a quick drink of water.

He would have to be quiet though. It was a quiet night in Whiterun, as it usually was. Blaise slipped out of the covers and let his bare feet hit the hardwood floor. It wasn't Hroar he was so careful around, he slept like the dead. It was his parents. Years of adventuring taught them to be wary of any suspicious noises at night and to sleep with one eye open unless they wanted to wake up with a dagger to their throat.

Unfortunately, Blaise's father was known to be more alert than the average man. Being the Dragonborn, thane of Jarl Balgruuf, and member of the Companions tended to bring out that particular trait.

Blaise and Hroar's room was located on the bottom floor of Breezehome, the house that the Jarl gifted to their father after he killed his first dragon at the Western Watchtower. The staircase leading to his mother and father's room was directly above the doorway to Blaise and Hroar's room, with the guest bedroom that was oftentimes occupied by Uncle Derkeethus and Aunt Lydia situated across from it. Blaise needed to be careful not to wake them. Tiptoeing across the room, he stopped briefly to listen for any noise above.

Listening closely, he could hear the deep steady snores of his Argonian father, Desolas Perigalus. Also known throughout Skyrim as the Dragonborn. Back before his birth parents were killed by the Stormcloaks, Blaise had been led to believe that all Argonians were deceitful and savage. Desolas couldn't have been further from that stereotype. When he wasn't out adventuring, the Argonian warrior always made sure he had time for his family. He would teach them how to fight, sharing his skill with the sword to Hroar and passing on his knowledge of destruction magic, specifically lightning, to Blaise, who has always been more mesmerized by the arcane arts than his brother. He told stories of his childhood when he traveled from the Black Marsh to Skyrim with his parents and brother and would tell them his exploits as Dragonborn and his many adventures with the Companions. Overall, both felt lucky to have such a cool and caring father.

Completing the pair that was their parents was their Dark Elf mother, Brelyna Maryon. Anyone who first saw the pair together would be shocked to see an Argonian and a Dunmer behaving so cordial with each other, let alone romantically. But then again, neither individual seemed to conform to the stereotypes of their respective race. Brelyna was easily the best mother that either Blaise or Hroar could have asked for. The Dark Elf mage, whom Desolas had first met years ago when he traveled to Winterhold looking to better improve his grasp on destruction magics, stood out amongst most people of Skyrim as a purely caring individual. She was always so warm, attentive, gentle, and fearless in her own way. Dangerous when she needed to be, and one of the most powerful mages in all of Skyrim.

When all was calm and still in the night, Brelyna rarely if ever made any noise. Tonight seemed to be one of those nights.

With as much illusiveness and silence as the young Breton boy could muster, Blaise got the small drink of water he desired. Once he gulped it down, he started to make his way back to his room, but froze when he saw the familiar figure at the foot of the stairs.

The glowing blue eyes of his father gazed at him through the dark, concerned.

"Blaise," he said softly, not wanting to wake up the other occupants of the house. "Why are you awake?"

"I had a bad dream," Blaise mumbled, looking down, embarrassed.

Looking down, he didn't see his father's eyes soften until he spoke again, holding his hand out to his son.

"Come here."

Blaise shuffled over to join his father on the staircase, where they sat down together. Blaise hesitated before placing his head on his lap. Desolas softly ran his talons over his scalp in a soothing motion. Back before he was adopted, Blaise was afraid an Argonian's claws. It seemed as though they could rip through flesh with little to no effort on their part. But for all his fierceness in battle, Desolas was always gentle when touching his sons with his talons. It tend to be relaxing, especially when putting them to sleep.

After a few minutes of silence, Desolas spoke up.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay," Desolas didn't press the issue. He knew his boy would come to him at some point. "It's okay to be afraid, Blaise. We all have bad dreams every now and then."

It was still a bizarre notion to Blaise that his father had nightmares. Why would he? He was invincible. He defeated Alduin, took down the Thieves Guild _and_ the Dark Brotherhood, and helped kill Ulfric Stormcloak. Nothing could frighten him. What Blaise saw was a man who would come home after killing bandits and dragons but would still greet his children with a warm smile and hug. What he saw was a man who would play with his children no matter how tired he was. What Blaise saw was a loving husband who would help his wife cook dinner at night.

What he didn't see was the thin layer of sweat and blood that the man ached to get rid of but believed he never could. What he didn't see was a man who would lean on walls and furniture when he got home or he would collapse in exhaustion. What he didn't see was his Dunmer mother's back decorated with small bruises when the man would grab onto it so tightly after a nightmare. He couldn't because his father was a legend.

"But Papa, you're the Dragonborn. What could possibly scare you?"

Desolas sighed, he desperately wanted to go back to bed with his wife but his mind wouldn't give him a restful sleep.

"A lot of things. Losing you, your brother, your mother. Your Uncle Derkeethus, your Aunt Lydia. All of your aunts and uncles at Jorrvaskir. Heck, even your Uncle Cicero," Desolas gave a dry laugh at that last part. "Losing any one of you? That's what scares me the most."

That shocked Blaise. Desolas fought dragons, beasts, bandits, necromancers, powerful mages but losing his family is what scared him the most.

"You wouldn't let that happen though, Papa. You would protect us."

Desolas smiles softly, leaning forward to press his forehead against his son's.

"With my last dying breath."

* * *

Once he had gotten Blaise back to bed, Desolas made his way back upstairs to find his wife awake and sitting up in bed. Her red eyes gazed warmly at him, her long dark hair cascading down her back and shoulders in a way that made her look almost more beautiful than she already was.

"I'm sorry," Desolas said, sitting down next to his beloved. "Did I wake you?"

"It's no problem, love. Was it Blaise?" Brelyna asked in concern.

Desolas nodded. "Yes. But I think he's okay for now. He has Hroar with him, after all."

Brelyna gave a soft, warm laugh as she and her husband fell back into each other's arms and situated themselves warmly under the covers. She gave the Argonian a peck on the tip of his nose, making the man smile.

"And I have you. I guess everyone is lucky."

The whole family slept peacefully through the night. No nightmares would plague them for a while, but Desolas and Brelyna both knew that it was not the end of them. But they all had each other to rely on when the dreams became unbearable. If the day's adventure left Desolas gloomy and exhausted, he had Blaise and Hroar to liven him up with their cheerful demeanor and games. No matter how cruel and unforgiving the world could be, Desolas always had his family to look to.

* * *

 **So, long story short:**

 **The Dovahkin was an Argonian immigrant from the Black Marsh named Desolas Perigalus (yes, Mass Effect reference. Don't hate me) who came to Skyrim as a child with his brother, Derkeethus. He married Brelyna Maryon and adopted two sons, Hroar and Blaise. Derkeethus married Lydia, making her Desolas' sister-in-law. The Companions also fill the role of surrogate brothers and sisters in Desolas' life.**

 **His is first and foremost a member of the Companions and a loyal citizen of Whiterun. He wiped out the Dark Brotherhood (except for Cicero, which will be explained in future chapters) and the Thieves Guild (which I know isn't an option in the actual game but I wish it was), sided with the Empire over the Stormcloaks, and chose to side with Paaerthanaux over the Blades. He is mostly a fighter who specializes in single-handed weaponry, but also has a strong penchant for lightning-based destruction magic.**


	2. Formal Introductions

Brelyna looked up from her tome when a shadow cast across its pages. Standing before her was the newest arrival to the College. Desolas Perigalus, an Argonian man with a dark, ebony colored scales with a few lighter blue hues along his face. His eyes glowed sapphire, great contrast to Brelyna's own. She had only seen the lizardman a few times on the College grounds, and had the innate weariness towards him that most Dunmer had in relation to Argonians.

"Yes?" the Dunmer woman asked as she closed the book.

Desolas shrugged, his robes billowing slightly around his muscular form. He was tall, as most lizard-folk were, with a wide musculature that gave the idea of the man being quite the fighter. Brelyna would be lying if she said she didn't find his build attractive, and was curious as to what he'd look like without those pesky robes covering his form.

The College of Winterhold was lacking in attractive male students. Onmund was a nice-looking fellow. Though, he was a bit on the scrawny side and he wasn't… interested in women, apparently. And Brelyna was not even going to consider anything with J'zargo.

But looking for men wasn't something that was on Brelyna's agenda. She had come to Skyrim to improve her skills in Conjuration, something that most of her family back in Morrowind severely lacked. She was not really close to anyone else in House Telvanni. Her parents were prim and proper perfectionists who spent more time trying to keep their reputation high than bonding with their children. And Brelyna's sisters were always too haughty and arrogant for her to be patient with. It was exhausting.

"Brelyna, right?" Desolas asks, and Brelyna is surprised at just how deep this man's voice is. "From House Telvanni?"

At her nod, he continues. "I'm just looking for some company I suppose."

"I'm afraid I am a poor conversation partner," Brelyna remarks, setting her book aside. While her courses at the College are difficult, they are not impossible. J'zargo teases her mercilessly, insisting that because she is a Dark Elf, she must be extra good at magic.

"That makes two of us," Desolas remarks with a smile. "That's one thing we can relate to each other, I suppose."

He sits across from Brelyna on the long wooden bench. "In fact, I was hoping you could help me."

Desolas looks away, then back at Brelyna. "I hope it is not too presumptuous, but you have a decent understanding of Destruction magic, yes?"

Brelyna smiles. "It's one of the few stereotypes about my people that is actually correct. Why?"

Desolas smiles back. "Since I was a youngling, Destruction magic has always been something I've been interested in. Specifically shock-based. You probably know that the Nords aren't overly fond of magic and friendly Mer are very rare these days, so finding proper instructors is difficult."

Tilting her head to one side, Brelyna shrugs. "My primary area of profession when it comes to Destruction is fire. I'm curious though. I thought those from the Black Marsh weren't overly fond of Dark Elves…"

Desolas grunts. "What makes you assume I'm from the Marsh? There are Argonians everywhere. Mostly simple dock workers and petty thieves, yes, but we around."

Desolas smiled again, and Brelyna was surprised at the warmth in it. "I was born in the Marsh, but I never grew up there. My brother and I came here with our mother as youths. We don't share that irrational hatred of Dunmer that most of our brethren back home seem to."

"I… would not call it irrational," Brelyna admitted awkwardly, trying to be polite. "You know what my kind have done to yours."

"I rarely saw it myself. I hold no ill towards you or your people. Unless they cross me of course. Then there is a problem."

"Well, I will make sure never to get on your bad side then," Brelyna remarks. "And anyway, why not try talking to Feralda? She is the College's primary Destruction instructor.

With a huff, Desolas shakes his head. "Feralda is a bit too… impatient for me. Despite my affinity for lightning, I am not much of a sorcerer."

Shaking his head, Brelyna points out the obvious, "You would have had to perform some adept-level spell to be admitted to the College."

"I know, I know," Desolas said, pinching the end of his long snout. "And I did. A Conjuration spell, though, which I am in no way skilled at. It took me three days to understand the book she gave me before I gave it a try. It was incredibly sloppy and the Atronach looked like it was barely holding itself together. It enough to satisfy Faralda, though. But now I've already forgotten the spell."

Brelyna just listened, nodding when she could. "But, well, yes, this is a place of learning. So perhaps she saw promise in you?"

While she had some sympathy for Desolas, if he had already forgotten a spell he learned two days ago, if he had not been long-dedicated to the art of magic, why was he attending the College at all?

"I saw you down in Saarthal. You clearly know your way around with a blade, and your skill with lightning seems good enough to balance it all out," Brelyna said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms and legs as she studied the Argonian curiously. "You obviously already know how to fight. Why try to learn more at all?"

"You mean you don't know?" Desolas asks, looking honestly surprised.

"Know what?"

Desolas looked around to see if anyone else was present, before looking at the Dark Elf across from him seriously. "How much have you heard about the dragons?"

Now Brelyna was really confused. "I heard that one destroyed Helgen three weeks ago, and there are rumors that another one was killed more recently near Whiterun. Why is that important?"

Desolas shuffled on the bench until his legs are crossed on the long plank. He sits up straight. "That rumor about the one at Whiterun is true. I know because I was there, and killed it myself. I am a Dragonborn."

Brelyna blinked. Once, then twice. Then she laughed. Because what else could she do? She knew the legend of the Dragonborn from reading up on Nord legend. Supposedly all-powerful warriors chosen by fate to slay dragons for a living, absorbing their souls to increase their own power. She had imagined what the fabled Dovahkiin of the legend would look like. She had imagined strong, handsome Nord men, hell, maybe even regal looking women. She did not in any way picture them as being a large, imposing if not slightly awkward Argonian.

Desolas narrowed his glowing blue eyes at the woman. "Fine. Don't believe me. Maybe it's better that way. But the people of Whiterun believe I am."

"So," Brelyna said with another light laugh. She couldn't help but smile. "You're saying that you can shout with the voice of a flying lizard. Say I believe you. What use do you have for Destruction magic?"

She still doesn't believe Desolas, but this conversation has nonetheless become much more amusing.

"Because," Desolas hissed, "just because I can do a few shouts and swing a sword better than the average Argonian, doesn't mean I am fully capable of combatting a dragon on a daily basis. I've offered my services to Jarl Balgruuf to help defend Whiterun and its hold from any possible dragon attacks, but to do that I need to improve whatever skills I have, in this case, my knowledge of shock-based magic. That one in Whiterun almost killed me. In all honesty, I never would have been able to take it down alone. It was only thanks to the Companions that I actually killed the thing."

"The Companions," Brelyna repeated skeptically. "And I suppose now you're going to claim you're one of them?"

Desolas didn't speak, but his eyes darted around the library before he looked back at Brelyna. "Is there somewhere more private we can speak?"

Brelyna knew of no better place, but if it would pacify Desolas, she did not mind moving to a nominally more secluded location. Gathering up her books, she shoved them into her bag before standing. Silently, Desolas followed her out into the stairwell and then outside to the courtyard. Brelyna was surprised at how silent he moved, considering his size.

The air was predictably cold, with only a light dusting of snow in the air. Lovely weather, all things considered. Brelyna had considered taking Desolas to her dormitory, but that was not particularly private either. Instead, she cut towards one of the archways that let them look out upon the sea.

Desolas looks positively freezing, pulling up his fur-lined hood and trying to keep every inch of his scaly skin concealed. Brelyna couldn't fault him for it. He was a reptile.

"Say what you wish," Brelyna prompted, looking out at the frozen waters.

"I made a number of rainchecks on my way up here since I left Whiterun. I've heard a few… disturbing things. That Thalmor who has taken residence here. Ancano. Tell me, what do you know of him?"

"Hm," Brelyna hummed with slight distaste. The Arch-Mage's newest advisor had rubbed her the wrong way the moment she arrived, and she knew she wasn't the only one. He had been on the College grounds for some time now, arriving shortly after she did a few months ago.

"I do not like him. And I am not just saying that because he is of the Thalmor," Brelyna admitted. "I don't like the way he looks at me. I can't tell if he expects me to blow myself up, or to try and murder him. He clearly doesn't trust any of us."

Desolas nodded. "Yes. Well, during my journey to here from Whiterun, I received a tip that the Thalmor may be directly involved if not responsible for the sudden dragon attacks."

That got Brelyna's immediate attention. "Who told you this?"

"A… very interested party. That's all that I can say right now," Desolas admitted uneasily. "Please, let's just leave it at that."

"Fine. You think Ancano is involved with the dragons then?" Brelyna asked. As an Argonian, Desolas should care little of Thalmor interference. After all, the High Elves cared little for his people and had done nothing to anger them as of yet.

"I suspect that he is involved in some kind of conspiracy. Whether or not it involves the dragons I do not know, but whatever he is doing here, I have a great feeling that it isn't for just purposes," Desolas explained. "Already I have spotted a number of Thalmor spies in the area, spying on the College's inhabitants. That Nord student who disappeared last week? That was them."

Okay, now Brelyna was super worried. She could see why Desolas was so concerned with Ancano now, but that raised another question.

"I thought you were only interested in dealing with dragons. Whether they're involved or not, why do you care what the Thalmor do?"

"Why shouldn't I?" he said, slightly offended. "The Thalmor are as much a danger to Skyrim as the dragons are."

"And why do you care what happens to Skyrim?"

"Because it is my home. Would you not do the same for yours?"

Brelyna honestly had no response to that, because yes, she would do the same for hers. Seeing she wasn't responding, Desolas continued. "I am basically fighting two wars at once, Brelyna. And to do that I need skills. You see where I am going with this?"

"Yes, but again, I do not understand why you would come to me. Many Argonians hate the Dunmer for what they did years ago."

Desolas snickered. "I did not think you a racist woman, Brelyna. I have judged poorly."

Hunching his shoulders, Desolas stepped away from the balcony. Reaching out, Brelyna grabbed Desolas by the shoulder. She did not think herself prejudiced, and could not conceive where Desolas got that idea.

"I am not racist, Perigalus. I merely stated fact."

"I was born long after the invasion, Brelyna, and I hold very few memories of the Marsh before my family came here," Desolas explained. "I hold no ill towards Dark Elves, and love Skyrim as though it were my birthplace. But if you have any ill opinion towards me or my people, then I understand your being unwilling to help me."

Did she? Brelyna had not thought much of the Accession War, the events that led up to it, or the aftereffects that both the Black Marsh and Morrowind were still reeling from since arriving at Skyrim. At least, not in regards to her own position. House Telvanni had always been neutral in regards to the racial tension between her kind and the lizard-folk. No, she did not consider herself racist.

"I am not much of a teacher. But… I may be able to pass a few things onto you. I have some books available."

Desolas smiles softly. "Of course. That would suffice for the time being. I only ask that this conversation is held in confidence."

Brelyna promised. She still did not believe he was the Dragonborn, but she was concerned over the idea of dragons and Thalmor running amok and causing mayhem. And she seemed to genuinely want to stop either from happening.

"I wish only the same."

"Of course."

Desolas took his leave, and Brelyna had a feeling that she would be seeing more of the Argonian from that point on.

* * *

 **The first formal meeting between Desolas and Brelyna. So yeah, a lot of the chapters won't be written in linear order. My writing for this one was a little rusty, but I hope it was satisfying for some of you. I'm thinking of taking requests for ideas for future chapters. Obviously I have ideas of my own, but if any of you have any you'd like me to write feel free to leave requests.**


	3. The Sound A Lion Makes

"Those who shirk their duties will get an extra beating. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Grelod," five individual voices spoke out, each one laced with subdued misery and bitterness. None quite so bitter as young Hroar, who glared hatefully through his unruly locks of dirty blonde hair at the elderly woman who had the audacity to revere herself as 'the Kind'. He loathed every minute he spent here at Honorhall. Sure, the other kids were friendly and no one that Hroar had ever met was as kind as Constance, but Grelod... dear Talos, Grelod...

"And one more thing!" the old crone in question snapped, glaring at Hroar and the other three residents at the orphanage with utmost contempt. "I will hear no more talk of adoptions! None of you riff-raff is getting adopted. Nobody needs you, nobody wants you. That, my darlings, is why you're here. Why you'll always be here, until you come of age and get thrown into that wide, horrible world. Now, what do you all say?"

Hroar didn't miss how little Runa flinched at Grelod's words, the girl barely managing to contain a whimper before she, Samuel, and Francois all spoke in unison, "We love you, Grelod. We thank you for your kindness."

Hroar didn't say it, though. It was one of those rare moments where he was unwilling to give the old witch the satisfaction of agreeing with his masochistic monologues. Grelod, however, took immediate notice.

"Didn't you here me, boy?" she hissed.

Hroar said nothing, and refused to look at Grelod.

"Why you little..." she growled, and Hroar barely had time to react when Grelod harshly backhanded him across the face, sending him to the floor with a yelp.

"Miss Grelod!" a terrified and angry voice yelled out seconds later.

Hroar looked up to see Miss Constance had entered, staring between him and Grelod with shock.

Grelod merely sneered at everyone and everything around her, and glared down at Hroar. "Arrogant little bastard. Like the little Aretino boy, you amount to nothing more than a worthless piece of gutter trash. Remember that or I'll do more than that. Understand?"

Hroar said nothing.

"Do you understand, boy?!" Grelod shrieked, and looked ready to beat him again.

"Miss Grelod, please," Constance spoke up weakly, causing the old lady to pause. "People will hear..."

That got Grelod to calm down, but she continued to glare at Hroar before scoffing and storming out of the room. The other kids were relieved to see her go, but Constance flinched when Grelod turned to her sharply before exiting.

"Clean up this mess, and don't disturb me. I really ought to start locking all the doors in this pig pen..."

"Yes, ma'am," Constance said quickly, and released a sigh once Grelod returned to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Hroar had pulled himself back up to his feet by then, and his cheek was no doubt bruised as he could feel the spot where Grelod had struck him throbbing. He heard Constance approaching him, but didn't look at her.

"Hroar..." she started, but Hroar backed away from her and made his way out the door. "Hroar!"

But Hroar didn't listen, he just ran. He exited the orphanage and into the bitter winter cold of Riften, and kept running until he found himself a quiet little alleyway behind the Bee and Barb. He sat down behind a bunch of barrels, and hugged his knees to his face and wept. Days at the orphanage were always like this. Sometimes it escalated to even worse extremes, depending on Grelod's mood. Damn that woman. Hroar was beginning to think he should have followed Aventus' advice and ran when he had the chance. That idea was becoming more and more enticing each day. Talos, Hroar wanted his mother...

The child was so caught up in his emotional breakdown he didn't hear the heavy footsteps approaching, nor the large figure from which they were coming from.

"What's wrong, child?" a deep voice spoke, causing Hroar to snap to attention.

He wiped his eyes as he looked up at the figure, and in the pale light of the moon, he saw it was an Argonian. That fact alone made Hroar gulp. He had met quite a few Argonians since he came to Riften, and not too many of them were the kind sort. Except maybe Wujeeta, when she wasn't intoxicated from skooma.

"N-Nothing, sir," he said with a sniffle, looking away.

"If that were true, you wouldn't have been weeping," the lizard man said lightly. "Are you lost? Where are your parents?"

Hroar gave a bitter expression on as he looked away. "Dead. Why do you care?"

The Argonian was silent, and Hroar half expected him to scoff at his emotional snap. But the Argonian just sighed and put a gentle hand on Hroar's shoulder. The boy flinched for a moment, before looking at the man. There was remorse and sympathy in his eyes.

"I'm sorry to here that. I know what it's like to lose your family."

"You lost your parents too?" Hroar asked, curious.

The Argonian nodded. "My parents. Lost my father when I was about your age. Mother a few years later."

"Sorry," Hroar said, wiping the leftover tears from his eyes. "I never knew my father. But my ma died a year ago. She worked down in the docks and got sick one day. She..."

Hroar trailed off, and the Argonian nodded in understanding.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked curiously.

"I'm Hroar," the Nord boy introduced, blushing when that got a raised eyebrow from the lizard man. "It... my ma named me after the sound a lion makes. You know, roaaaar!"

The Argonian gave a light chuckle as the boy lifted his hands up like claws, doing a pretend snarl similar to an actual lion. "I can almost see it."

That made Hroar smile a bit in pride. "I want to be big and strong like a lion, too. Someday."

"I'm sure you will, Hroar," he said, nodding. "I'm Desolas. It's very nice to meet you."

Hroar smiled at him. "You're nice. A lot nicer than most of the grownups here."

That made the Argonian, Desolas, frown a bit. "Are you living here by yourself? On the streets?"

"No," Hroar said, shaking his head. "I live at the Honorhall Orphanage. Grelod the Kind watches us, her and Constance."

Desolas was silent for a moment, glowing blue eyes narrowed as he seemed to be thinking something over. Hroar didn't seem to notice that he was staring at the now visible bruise on his cheek. "Why are you out here by yourself, Hroar? Did someone in the orphanage hurt you?"

Hroar flinched, looking down.

"Hroar?" Desolas said, gently.

"I... Grelod did it. She's a mean, evil old lady," Hroar said, eyes getting teary and full of hate and anger. "They call her Grelod the Kind. But she's not kind. She's terrible. To all of us."

"And she did that?" Desolas said, pointing to Hroar's bruise. The young Nord nodded, and he flinched a bit when the Argonian growled. "Has no one done anything?"

"Constance is nice to us, and takes care of us after Grelod's had one of her tantrums," Hroar explained. "She treats us real good. Sometimes she gives me little snacks. Which is good, 'cause we only get but one meal. Late, too, in the afternoon. I'm a growing boy. I need as much food as I can get. But... sometimes she's even more afraid of Grelod than we are. I... I'm worried she's gonna do something terrible. Ever since Aventus left, Grelod's been even meaner than usual. I swear, she's going to kill one of us."

Desolas paused, and cocked his head. "Aventus?"

Hroar nodded. "Yeah, Aventus Aretino. He was an orphan at the hall just like me. But he was... different. He scared me sometimes. He always had this look."

"What kind of look?"

"Like, like he wanted to kill someone. But he only ever used it with Grelod. He was nice to me and everyone else... sometimes."

"You said he left? Where did he go?"

"A few weeks ago, he ran away. Kept saying stuff about getting back at Grelod. She... she put a candlestick to his face one day, for talking back. He ran after that," Hroar said, grimacing at the memory. "My friend Samuel said he's back home in Windhelm, and is doing some kind of dark ritual. He's trying to summon some killers to come get old Grelod."

Hroar didn't notice the bemused look the Argonian stranger made at that. He looked to be barely holding in laughter at some sort of irony. He didn't tell Hroar that young Aventus' efforts would prove fruitless now.

"I see," Desolas said, and then reached into the pack he was carrying around his waste. "I'd like to give you something, Hroar."

Hroar's brows pinched in confusion, then his eyes widened when the Argonian took out an ornate, steel dagger. He gave it to him, and Hroar dumbly held out his hand and took it. He felt the hilt in his hand, and studied it. Desolas chuckled, and gently took Hroar's hand.

"Here. Like this," he instructed, adjusting Hroar's hold on it more appropriately. "There. It's yours. I can see the makings of a warrior in you, Hroar. But you must only use it when truly necessary. I pray you won't anytime soon."

"I... thank you, mister," he said, doe eyed. He smiled happily at the man. "Thanks a lot!"

"Think nothing of it," he said, and ruffled the boy's wild unruly dirty blonde hair. Then, he stood and started to walk away.

"Wait, where are you going?" Hroar said, standing up and walking after the man, a bit upset that his new friend was leaving.

Desolas paused, and turned to the Nord boy. "I'm an adventurer, Hroar. I never stay in one place too long."

"But..."

"Hroar," Desolas said, kneeling down to the boy's level, resting a hand on his head. "You will be fine here. I can tell you are a brave lad. If what you've said about Honorhall is true, then those other kids there will need you around to make them feel safe."

"I... yeah, okay," Hroar said, feeling a bit more emboldened by the man's words. "But, will I ever see you again?"

Desolas smiled. "You may. After I've taken care of a few things, I'll more than likely stop by."

"Okay," Hroar said, smiling back. "Where are you gonna go?"

Desolas glanced over Hroar's shoulder, eyes lingering to the orphanage for a few moments. "First, I think I'll visit an old friend of mine. There's a little favor he owes me. But for now, go home. It's late, and children like you shouldn't be out and about at this hour. Especially in a place like this."

Desolas stood, bid Hroar goodbye, and left. Hroar watched him leave until he was out of sight. The boy looked down at the knife he held, his grip tightening around the hilt as a determined look fell across his face. He returned to the orphanage, feeling more invigorated than he ever had since arriving in Riften.

* * *

Hroar lay in bed, the orphanage silent save for the light snores of the other children. Hroar remained awake in deep contemplation. Grelod had been even more nasty today than she had been two days ago when she struck Hroar. Her aggression had been so bad that she had actually lashed out rather violently at Constance when the kind girl tried to intervene on the childrens' behalf. Grelod's actions towards Constance had lit a spark of fury in Hroar. Hatred, a desire to see Grelod dead. Is this how Aventus had felt before he left? If so, Hroar now shared the boy's sentiments.

He reached under his pillow and pulled the knife that the kind Argonian had given him, and stared at it in deep thought. It would be so simple. Grelod wouldn't react in time, not with how heavily she slept. He was a child, and none of the guards would ever suspect. With each thought, Hroar's grip tightened even more...

A loud, agonized scream cut through the orphanage, causing Hroar to nearly jump right out of his skin and sit straight up. He quickly shoved the knife back under his pillow, and stood up in tandem with the other children, who had also been awakened from the frightful shriek. Hroar peaked down the hall to see Constance exiting her room in her nightwear and running towards Grelod's room where the scream had come from. A candlestick in hand, she quickly opened the door and stepped back with a shriek at what she saw, hand covering her mouth and eyes wide with horror.

Hroar moved alongside her and looked into the room, heart skipping a beat.

Grelod the Kind lay dead on her bed, the sheets and pillows soaked with blood that poured from a gaping gash cut down from her upper breast all the way to her stomach, exposing her internal organs. A horrified, perpetual scream was currently etched on her dead face as the figure crouching over her cackled maliciously. The figure above her was a man, a skinny, gangly figure who turned to face Hroar and Constance. The light from the candles illuminated his pale features, dark circles under his eyes and a hooked nose, giving him a rather sinister visage. He worse some type of jester's uniform, and held a blood soaked dagger in his hand.

Before anything else could be said, there was a flash of blinding light as the man cackled, his laughter fading until going silent. When the light faded away, he was gone, only Grelod's disembowled corpse remaining.

"Oh... my..." Constance whimpered, backing away.

She quickly grabbed Hroar by the shoulder and moved him away from the door, reaching forward and slamming it shut.

"No one look in there!" she said, panicky. "Everyone stay in your room, don't go anywhere. I'm going to find the guards."

With that she quickly ran out of the building, leaving Hroar alone in the hall. The other children joined him, ignoring Constance's instructions. Samuel opened the door first, and the amazed chatter began the moment everyone saw Grelod's body.

"Woah," someone said, one of the girls. "Grelod's dead..."

"Someone killed Grelod!" Samuel said, smiling. "Grelod the Kind's dead! Haha!"

"Aventus did it, he actually did it!"

Cheers and excited murmurs continued. Hroar found himself caught up in the celebration, his earlier thoughts forgotten as a smile slowly worked its way to his face.

* * *

A few more weeks passed, and things had gotten a whole lot better. Grelod's death was the talk of the town for only a few days before it was gradually forgotten by all. Constance quickly took over as head of the orphanage, and with her in charge, things were easier. The children had more meals than before, and adoption was allowed once again now that Grelod's sadistic dogma had been lifted. Samuel had been the first to leave, taken in by a pair of nobles from Solitude. One of the girls, Runa, taken in by some of those nomadic Khajiit merchants that came through every now and then. That only left Hroar and two other kids.

Hroar felt more free than before, and in his spare time when he wasn't playing with the other children, he would go out to that spot in the alley where he met Desolas, to practice a few swings with his knife. He didn't feel afraid anymore.

"Hroar?"

Hroar looked up from a book he had been reading on his bed when Constance came in. She was giving him a happy smile.

"Someone's here to adopt you."

Hroar's eyes lit up. "Really? Who?"

Constance led him into the foyer of the orphanage, where the interested party was waiting. Hroar cocked his head curiously when he was met with a Dark Elf woman, a really pretty one with long black hair and a nice looking robe. On her head, she wore a diamond studded circlet. She looked down and gave Hroar the warmest of smiles. "Hello, little one. My name is Brelyna. Am I to assume you're Hroar?"

The boy blushed at the soft, warm voice she addressed him with. "Yes, ma'am."

"I thought so. You look just like I expected you to be."

"Do you know me, ma'am?"

"Yes, in fact I do," the Dark Elf nodded as she absentmindedly watched Constance respectfully leave the room to leave the two alone to themselves. "My husband speaks rather fondly of you."

"Your husband? I've never met any other Dark Elves, ma'am. Are you sure I'm the right kid?"

"My husband's not a Dark Elf," she said with a smile. "You'll know him when you see him."

"Where is he?"

"He's out running a few errands with his friends. He's sorry he wasn't able to be here to meet you, but promised to meet us back home," she explained as Constance came back with a few pieces of paper.

"Go and pack your belongings, Hroar. Miss Maryon, if you wouldn't mind signing to necessary papers?"

"Of course."

Hroar quickly left the room and returned with a small bag in his hand only a few minutes later. By then, the formalities of his adoption were complete.

When he looked up at his now adoptive mother, the Dark Elf's smile remained and she offered her hand to him.

"Well, come along then," she said, and Hroar took her hand as she led them outside. "My husband is so eager to meet you, again."

"Where are we going?" Hroar asked when they exited the city of Riften and moved towards a carriage drawn outside.

Brelyna smiled. "Whiterun."

* * *

The journey to Whiterun lasted for about two days, and Hroar had spent quite a bit of time talking with his new mother. She was super cool. Turns out she was a mage who knew all sorts of awesome spells, and Hroar was marveled at her displays of fire magics, and laughed in amazement when she summoned a few atronachs and a wolf familiar that played chase with him when they stopped by a river one night to rest.

She spoke fondly on Whiterun and its people. News on the Companions got Hroar all doe-eyed. Growing up he had heard stories of the Companions. He had dreamed of one day being like them.

However, on the subject of Brelyna's husband, she deliberately left those pieces out. Whenever Hroar would ask who he was or what he was like, she merely winked and said "You'll see."

When they finally arrived at Whiterun, Hroar was impressed by how beautiful and peaceful looking it was compared to Riften. The guards nodded in a friendly manor when Brelyna led him to the front gates, letting them pass without hesitation. It seemed Brelyna was well known here, even respected.

Breezehome, the new house that Brelyna mentioned they'd be living, was nice. The floor was lovely white wood and the fire pit situated in the middle of the foyer filled the home with a cozy warmth. A small kitchen was in the back corner with an adjacent room to its left. A staircase leading to the second floor stood right in front of the front door when they entered.

"Honey, he's here! Come greet him,' Brelyna called out as she shut the front door behind them. "I picked him up just for you."

At the sound of heavy footsteps, Hroar looked up at the staircase to see―

"Ah, Hroar! You made it. I was actually going to come pick you up but Brelyna just went on without me. She ruined my surprise."

"Desolas!" Hroar said, smiling happily as he ran up to the Argonian, wrapping his arms around his waste in a hug. Brelyna smiled fondly as the Argonian put his arms gently around the boy, smiling.

"It's good to see you again, Hroar. Welcome home."

* * *

 **Done based on Jean-Moddalle's request. Thank you for the reviews. I hope this chapter satisfied some of you. If you have anymore questions or requests, feel free to let me know :)**


	4. Flower

Desolas' voice rose higher and louder as he argued with the shopkeeper about the prices. The Dark Elf behind the counter of Sadri's Used Wares refused to budge. Her head obscured by the hood of her robes, Brelyna watched from the doorway with her arms folded over her chest, an uncomfortable look adorning her features.

"Thirty gold for an emerald?" Desolas snarled, barring his teeth. "I could get over a hundred in Solitude for this!"

"Well, you're not in Solitude," Sadri hissed, his red eyes glaring at Desolas.

"It's near the size of my fist," Desolas slammed his palm on the counter. "You're trying to cheat me."

Sadri leaned dangerously close to Desolas, jabbing a finger at his shoulder. "I don't know where you got it. Could've been from a tomb for all I know. I'm not a fence for your filched goods, _lizard_ ," he spat the word out like he tasted something foul in the air. "I get enough trouble from the city guard as it is. I don't want to be dragged to prison for your rubbish."

As she continued to watch uncomfortably, Brelyna remembered the scene that took place when she, Desolas, Lydia, and Ria first entered Windhelm that evening, when they arrived right before nightfall. A Dunmer woman was being harassed by a large group of town folk who were quick to accuse her of every catastrophe that had befallen Skyrim in the past few years. There were a couple guardsmen up the stairs by the tavern who watched all of this without intervening. The men only dispersed when Desolas got between them and the woman, telling them to back off.

The men had grumbled to themselves and skulked away, but Brelyna knew that Desolas had only made more enemies that night. She would sleep better the sooner she and her friends left Windhelm soon.

At first, the Dark Elf woman had snapped at Desolas and his companions, demanding to know if they hated all her kind as well. As Desolas tried to console her, Brelyna had stepped forward and removed her hood, revealing her gray skin, red eyes, and pointed ears. The other Dunmer woman had relaxed almost instantly. Once the situation had calmed, Desolas stepped close to her, asking if this was normal, and she shrugged. Windhelm was not a kind city to outsiders, especially the Dark Elves in the Gray Quarter and the Argonians on the docks. She suggested that Brelyna keep her hood up if she didn't want trouble. Desolas she didn't spare a single word of advice for. It seemed that many of the Dunmer in this city had that inborn distaste for the lizard folk. Desolas could only sight in resignation at that realization.

When that little fact became apparent, all of the talking duties turned to Brelyna. The mage had convinced the native Dark Elf woman to show the quartet around. They had no food and almost no money on them, and they desperately needed to find someone with whom to trade their goods. Or, their scavenged items, more like.

"The name of your shop is used wares! Do you undersell all your patrons? How do you have _any_ customers?" Desolas' fists clenched at his side started to crackle dangerously with electricity.

Brelyna stepped forward, putting a tender hand on the Argonian's shoulder. "Desolas, please."

Desolas whipped his head around to glare at Brelyna, but when Sadri pulled a knife from under his counter to place between them, he controlled himself enough to make the storm magic in his knuckles disappear.

"Better listen to your friend. Smart lass, she is."

Brelyna frowned at Sadri as she moved her hand from Desolas' shoulder. "Look, we can trade for more than gold. We'll take your price for the gems if you throw in something else. I, for one, need a new knife."

Sadri looked at Brelyna for a moment, before nodding, placing his knife back in a cabinet under the counter. "Very well. Maybe then you two will leave me in peace then. Let me see what I've got."

Sadri disappeared behind a curtained door. Desolas was breathing harshly through his nostrils, and Brelyna pressed her hand against the Argonian's back.

"Don't fight my battles for me," Desolas muttered.

"That's one of the reasons I came with you in the first place."

"Not what I meant, Brel."

"I know. But we don't need you bringing an entire storm upon Windhelm."

Some of the tension in Desolas' back loosened. Brelyna let her hand slide further down his back, and, upon realizing the intimacy of the gesture, she gave a Desolas a perceived friendly pat before withdrawing her hand. Desolas glanced back at her with a curious expression for a few moments, before he reached into the satchel around his waist. He pulled a couple of coins out of the pouch and left them on the counter.

"Here," he said, waving his clawed fingers at the coins before replacing the pouch in his bag and hoisting the strap around his torso. "You get whatever else you want from him, but make sure he pays what he offered. If I have to look at his face again, I _will_ summon a lightning bolt directly up his arse, guards be damned."

"Where are you headed?" Brelyna asked.

"To find Lydia and Ria," Desolas answered. "See if they found an inn we can stay at."

With that, Desolas ducked out of the general goods store. It was dark outside, the braziers were lit along the wall, and snow was falling heavily. The falling snow hit him in the face, making him squint as he trudged up the stairs leading to the town square. The snow blurred his vision, and when he passed the gate for the docks, he bumped into a little girl. She was a strange sight given the part of town. She was neither Dark Elf nor Argonian, but human. She was bundled up for the weather, but her upturned, pink nose poked from above a threadbare scarf, and her eyes were red and watering from the cold. In her gloveless hands, she clutched a basket full of northern flowers.

She squeaked, hunching her shoulders. "Excuse me! I didn't see you."

Desolas frowned, thinking of the lateness of the hour and the increasingly bad storm. He also remembered hearing the rumors of a killer lurking in Windhelm's streets. It was hardly a safe place for a little girl.

"Are you headed home?" he asked her.

She peeked up at him, but when she saw his shadowy, hooded face, her eyes widened. She dipped her head again. "Soon enough. I was hoping to sell more."

He looked at the basket, assuming she meant those. "Where are your parents?"

"Dead. I live with Shahvee down by the docks. She's nice."

Desolas nodded. "Well. Get yourself home soon. It's not safe at night."

"I can take care of myself," she defiantly raised her head, though the snotty pink nose took away some of the effectiveness of her bravado. "Say, mister, would you like to buy one of my flowers?"

She held out the basket for him to see the small wreaths of snowberries and the wildflowers. He hesitated. The only gold he had on him was the small amount he didn't give to Brelyna.

"How much?"

Likely used to being ignored, the girl perked up. "Just a coin per flower!"

It was an impulsive decision, and Desolas knew in the back of his mind that he would get a lecture from all three women in his current company. But Desolas pulled out a handful of the coins without counting them. To his credit, he didn't grab the entire contents, but judging by the girl's clothes, she had probably never held a single gold coin in her life.

Desolas held the small fortune in his large palm before her. "I'll take all you got."

The girl was stunned into silence before she whooped and jumped on her feet. She thrust her whole basket toward him. With the gold coins filling her small hands, she laughed loudly and jubilantly.

"Thank you, mister! Shahvee will be so happy! Thank you!"

Desolas slid the handle of the basket over his arm. "Good. Now go home. You'll be safer there."

"I will!" she smiled up at him before running toward the docks gate, pushing open the wicket door with her shoulder.

Desolas sighed. He looked into his coin purse, counting what was left. He pocketed it and continued toward the tavern where he last saw Lydia and Ria head toward when he and Brelyna split from them earlier. He opened one of the tavern's doors, and the warm air wafted over him, the sudden warm temperature ridding him of that infernal rigidness his people characteristically experienced when exposed to the bitter cold. He spotted Lydia and Ria seated at a small round table in the corner, and cocked his head when he saw Brelyna was already with them. Seems his little transaction with that little girl kept him overdue.

When he walked over to them, Lydia smiled up at him. "I got us paid for. Two rooms is all I could afford."

Desolas nodded as he took a seat between her and Brelyna. "Thanks. So were you successful in not killing our favorite merchant?"

Brelyna chuckled. "He was civil with me. You, on the other hand, enjoy starting arguments."

"Or," Desolas said, raising his eyebrows and smirking at Brelyna, "people don't argue with you because you're so charming. All you have to do is flutter those pretty eyes and anyone will melt."

"Oh, you must stop," Brelyna said, exasperated. "It's been a long day. Can we not just relax for once without all the sarcastic quips?"

Desolas and Lydia both chuckled at that, and Desolas took that as an opportunity to lay out the flowers he had gotten on the table. Brelyna eyed them in surprise.

"What's this?" she asked, picking up one of the bundles of flowers.

Desolas shrugged. "Found it by the docks. Figured you could use them for your potions."

He conveniently did not mention the gold. Brelyna had a strange look in his eyes, confused, almost worried. She took the bundle of flowers, but her eyes lingered on it for a few seconds more. The faintest of blushes could be seen on her cheeks as she smiled shyly at Desolas.

"Thank you," she said, and stood up. "I think I'm going to retire for the night. I'll see you all in the morning."

Desolas nodded as Brelyna left up the stairs to their rented lofts. A few seconds later, he felt a pair of eyes on him and glanced to his side to see Lydia smirking at him with a suspicious glint in her eyes.

He frowned. "What?"

"Oh, nothing, my thane," Lydia said, voice full of mirth. "Absolutely nothing."

Desolas just grumbled, and he and his two remaining companions sat in silence for a few moments. That's when Desolas realized that Ria hadn't said a word since he sat down. Looking at her, he saw his fellow Companion was looking down, frowning at nothing.

"Ria?" he said, getting the girl's attention. "Are you okay?"

"I… don't like it here," Ria murmured. The normally jovial and upbeat girl now sounded afraid and haunted. "The things we've seen here… I don't want us to have to stay here longer than we need to."

Desolas didn't say anything to that, and instead nodded in understanding. Ria's status as an Imperial had not won her any hospitality from anyone in this city. If there was anyone in their little group who was more uncomfortable with the prejudice and sorrow in Windhelm, it was her.

Lydia put a comforting hand on Ria's shoulder. "Come on. We should all turn in for the night. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."


	5. Crush

**Warning: This chapter has M/M. Don't like, don't read.**

* * *

 **"** Hey, Blaise. Doesn't Nelkir look beautiful today?"

The thirteen year old Breton boy looked up from the grass where he was laying on his stomach, arms folded in front of a spellbook his mother had given for him to study from. He and his brother were spending time outside today, as it was for once comfortably warm and sunny in Whiterun. They had been hanging out in a comfy silence in the small little space behind Breezehome where their father had set up a small chicken coop, the hens under their care laying eggs that the family would often sell for extra money.

While Blaise had been wrapped up in his book, Hroar, ever the typical Nord, took to practicing his swings with the latest greatsword added to his collection. This particular blade was a birthday gift from their Uncle Farkas. About ten minutes ago, Hroar had ceased his actions, but Blaise was so wrapped up in his reading that he didn't really know or care why.

Until now, at least.

Hroar was leaning against the fence, both his medium length dirty blonde hair and his sleeveless green tunic fluttering lightly in the breeze as he smiled dreamily at the other Nord boy who was standing near the front of the Warmaidens' smithy that was next door. It was Nelkir, the second son and youngest child of Jarl Balgruuf. The boy looked positively bored, arms crossed as he stood to the side while his uncle Hrongar, who was conversing with Adrianne Avennici about weapons or something.

Blaise blinked when he saw Hroar's dreamy smile grow when Nelkir gave an annoyed huff, blowing a lock of dark brown hair out of his eyes.

"Um," Blaise said, unsure. "I suppose? He's... nice. At times."

Blaise honestly didn't share Hroar's sentiments toward the Jarl's youngest. In all honesty, Nelkir, just like his siblings Frothar and Dagny, came off as rude and spoiled. However, while Frothar was a pompous brute and Dagny a prissy, condescending brat who did nothing but wine and gloat over her perfect horse Karinda, Nelkir was... savage. Full of biting sarcasm and harsh words.

"Nice?" Hroar said, standing up straight and turning to look at his little brother like he had grown a second head. "Nice? Little brother you must not be looking close enough. He's like a divine sent down by Akatosh himself, with hair as soft and feathery as the mane of the great lions. Why he's..."

Blaise grimaced and tuned Hroar out right then. Having recently turned fifteen, Hroar had begun to mature more and more. He had long reached the usual Nord growth-spurt, sporting a musculature and height that just about rivaled some of Whiterun's most stalwart warriors. He still had quite a ways to go until he beat their father's height. His hair, once short, had grown longer, and the inklings of a beard were already showing.

But the biggest, most noticeable change in his brother was his growing interest in romance. Years of listening to the stories of their parents and the Companions had caused Hroar to develop an adventurer's heart. A heart that had recently become drawn to the 'fair and fiery' Nelkir.

"I think you've been listening to too many of Mikael's hymns, Hroar," Blaise cut in his brother's monologue as he sat down on a nearby bench. "I doubt Nelkir feels the same."

But Hroar waved him off. "Ah, he's just spent to much time around those rotten siblings of his. What he needs is a hero to come in and sweep him off his feet. Then he'll see just how much of a true Nord I am."

"Uh huh," Blaise said, watching his brother with a blank expression.

Hroar turned his attention back to Nelkir, who had begun to tap his foot impatiently as Adrianne began handing various items to his uncle. The eldest son of the Dragonborn watched, mulling over the situation. Then a thought struck him.

"That's it!"

"What?" Blaise blinked, looking up. He had drifted off while Hroar was thinking, and had begun to absently move a small glowing ball of magica he spawned between his fingers lazily. The little ball disappeared the moment he looked up.

"What's it?"

"To get his attention, I'll just do what pa did to win ma over!"

Blaise frowned. "... by learning destruction magic?"

"No!" Hroar snapped, glaring. Then he smiled. "By giving him a flower!"

Blaise blinked owlishly as Hroar sped past him, picking a bright orange Dragon's Tongue from Brelyna's garden. "Perfect! He'll swoon when I give him this."

"Wait, Hroar, I'm not sure if-"

But Hroar had already hopped the fence and began walking towards Nelkir. Blaise grimaced, moving over to the fence to watch the scene play out.

"Nelkir!" Hroar called out as he ran up to the boy.

The boy in question turned with a cocked eyebrow. That eyebrow quickly fell to piece together an annoyed glare.

"What do you want, peasant?" he drawled, annoyed. "I don't have time for you."

Hroar wasn't deterred, however. He just kept up his smile and stood before Nelkir confidently, the flower hidden behind his back. He was almost a foot taller than Nelkir, but still the son of the Jarl stared at the son of the Dragonborn like he was beneath him.

"You look quite lovely today," he said, tone cheerful and kind.

Nelkir said nothing to that, face remaining impassive, but Blaise could see his ears turn a fair shade of pink. Albeit briefly.

There was an awkward silence, during which Hroar's smile faltered slightly before he cleared his throat.

"H-How are you doing?"

"How am I doing?" Nelkir repeated, annoyed. "You waste two minutes of my time with your sad silence and that's what you ask?"

"Uh..." Hroar stuttered, blushing. Blaise never felt more sorry for his brother.

"I... I just thought..."

"Oh for the... Out with it, already!" Nelkir snapped.

"Here!" Hroar said quickly, shooting his hand out to reveal the Dragon's Tongue. Nelkir blinked and looked at it in surprise. He then looked up at Hroar.

"I... I picked it for you," Hroar said lamely, smile coming back, looking hopeful.

Nelkir said nothing, he just looked between Hroar and the flower held in his increasingly shaking hand.

Slowly, he reached forward and took the flower. He stared at it.

"I..." he started, then paused. "This is Dragon's Tongue. I thought these grew only in the Black Marsh?"

Confidence slowly returning, Hroar's smile broadened. "My pa bought some seeds from the Khajiit caravans for my ma. We got a whole garden full of them if you wanna see."

"That's... okay. Thank you though, Hroar," Nelkir said softly, smiling at the flower. "It's nice."

Nelkir looked up to smile at Hroar, but his smile immediately dropped and he reared back when he saw the other Nord boy had been leaning in to kiss him!

"What are you _doing_?!" he hissed, his quick backtrack causing Hroar to stumble forward clumsily.

He looked at Nelkir, surprised and confused. "I was just... going to give you a kiss?"

" _Why_?!"

"Because I gave you a flower..."

"That doesn't give you permission to kiss me, you idiot!"

"But... I was wooing you."

"Excuse me?!"

"I was playing the part of the warrior, winning over the heart of the fair maiden with a beautiful gift!"

"Fair mai-"

"And I could see it in your eyes, Nelkir, you feel the same way I can tell!"

"What are you tal-"

"The way you stared at me and the Dragon's Tongue with the dazed look of a smitten beauty, shining almost as bright as the blush in your cheeks."

"I am not bl-!"

Without warning, Hroar had moved forward and grabbed Nelkir's hands, eyes shining with pride and adoration in a way that made Nelkir's blush grow. From the sidelines, Blaise had to resist laughing at his brother's stupidity. A small crowd of onlookers had slowly gathered, something Nelkir noticed and blushed even harder at.

"We can't fight these feelings anymore, Nelkir."

" _What_ are you-?!"

"There's only one way to seal this growing bond we share," Hroar's voice softened as he leaned in, eyes closed.

Nelkir's breath hitched and he saw red.

Blaise winced as Nelkir's fist drove right into Hroar's crotch, and the Nord boy fell to the ground with a not-too-manly wheeze. He held his crotch, face screwed up in agony. Nelkir, looking beyond furious and embarrassed, snarled down at him.

"You moron!" he spat, and stormed off.

Hrongar, arms full of ingots and weapons, snorted a laugh as he passed Hroar's fallen form to follow his nephew. "Good try, boy."

Adrianne laughed, shaking her head as she returned to her forge. As the rest of the crowd dispersed, Blaise quickly hopped over the fence and moved over to his older brother.

"Are you alright?" he said in concern as he knelt by Hroar.

To his surprise and amusement, Hroar just gave a pained smile up at Blaise.

"I think I'm getting through to him," he wheezed, before his head fell back to the ground with a pained groan.

* * *

 **Ah young, naive love. I remember my first crush... lol**


End file.
